


Follow me

by mssdare



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Breathplay, Dom!Charles, Dom/sub Undertones, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, First Time, M/M, Past Violence, Self-Hatred, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This... What Charles suggested—hinted, rather—when he urged Erik to turn around, and Erik just followed, just obeyed, without a word of disagreement, and then let Charles splay his hand between Erik's shoulder blades and hold him still, immobile, pinned to the bed… This is something Erik just cannot accept. This is him being wrong and damaged to the core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aesc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesc/gifts).



> Dear aesc! I ADMIRE your writing and the way you see Erik and Charles and I loved your prompt.  
> The story that came out of it isn't exactly about first "first time", but I hope you'll like Erik's self-discovery!
> 
> MY HUGE THANKS to Sillygoose for a super-speed beta despite the horrible headache! You are my precious!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: mentions of past trauma and concentration camps, breathplay (sort of)
> 
>  
> 
> ____
> 
> Written for this prompt by aesc:
> 
> "Just, like, give me sexy experienced Charles despoiling virginal, confused, and angry Erik. It's my favorite thing. It can be canon or any flavor of AU, including A/O and BDSM.
> 
> (Um, however, with everything being in the realm of mutual consent, pls.)"

“Follow me”

 

The tag attached to the towel lying on the bathroom's tiled floor flickers in the ventilated air—a shivering little scrap like a wrinkled leaf twitching in a wind. Erik exhales. He swallows against the sickly sweet taste in his mouth.

He should have known better. He should have controlled himself better. It's not that his desires stir him towards men. He's seen enough pink triangle markings in the camps to know that he's not alone in his preferences, and besides, he won’t allow anyone dictate what he is and isn’t.

But this... What Charles suggested—hinted, rather—when he urged Erik to turn around, and Erik just followed, just _obeyed_ , without a word of disagreement, and then let Charles splay his hand between Erik's shoulder blades and hold him still, immobile, pinned to the bed… This is something Erik just cannot accept. This is him being wrong and damaged to the core.

He wonders if this is something that was done to him in the camps, if he was forced to stay on his knees until he snapped and it became his second nature, or worse—his own dark, deep desire.

He can understand the purpose of dominance. He knows all too well how the Nazis could make people crawl and lick the dirt off the shoes of their tormentors in hope they'd be spared. What he cannot understand is how a man could _want_ this debasement, how a man could take pleasure from it. How he sometimes needs it so much that he thinks he'll shatter if he doesn’t get it.

Erik’s gaze is drawn again to the flickering tag. He braces himself. He can't do this. He won't. He won't be like _that_.

There's a tap on the door and Erik startles at the sound of Charles's voice.

"Erik? Are you... I know you're not all right because I can feel that, but could you please come out of there so we can talk about it?"

This is exactly what Erik doesn't want to do. He won't talk about it because talking about it would make it even more real than it is now. He pushes his hands into his tangled hair and pulls harshly at the strands, searching for solace in the familiarity of pain, and at the same time hating himself for doing it.

"Erik, for fuck's sake, stop hiding in there," Charles says with exasperation. "You make me feel like I’m just as cruel as those Nazi bastards.”

So Charles has been snooping inside Erik's head after all.

"I haven't been _snooping_ ," Charles snaps. "You're just thinking it really strongly, all right?" He sighs and after a moment of silence Erik feels something shift in the air around him. Some peace seeps in, and maybe it's Charles projecting his usual calm demeanor, intentionally making Erik settle down a bit. But whatever it is, it’s working, and Erik finds that he's not even upset about it.

"Erik." When Charles starts to speak again, his voice is so confident that it makes Erik sit straighter. "Come out of the bathroom."

It feels like a nudge, as if a string were attached to Erik's body and pulled. He stands up and walks to the door.

He opens it to find Charles on the other side, sitting on the bed fully dressed. He looks unruffled in the way only Charles can look—a perfect example of an English gentleman. It's as if they haven't just fucked hard, as if he hasn't had Erik writhing underneath him, moaning and biting his lips so he won’t plead for more.

"Are you doing this?" Erik asks, because he feels lighter somehow. The heavy fog in his mind has lifted and he can focus again, on the room, on Charles, and on his own body. He's still naked, but that doesn't really bother him. He's never had problems with nudity; another thing the camps taught him is that a body is only a body.

Charles waits before he replies, "Not in the way you think I'm doing this." Which means absolutely nothing and aggravates Erik all over again.

He's angry, but that's nothing new—anger has been his constant, trusty companion since as a twelve-year-old he killed for the first time. Without anger he'd perish, like so many people in the camps who'd given up and became living corpses. And even though it’s been years since Erik freed himself and avenged the death of his parents, he can’t let go of the wrath as the fuel that feeds him. Without his anger Erik has nothing, _is_ nothing.

"There's so much more to you," Charles said earlier today after Erik had moved the satellite dish, but Erik has trouble believing it’s true. It’s rage that keeps him in one piece.

"You've erased yourself with it," Charles also said, and this—this Erik can believe.

 _So what now_? Erik thinks.

“Now you come here.” Charles pats the bed next to him and Erik recoils. He’s not a dog taking orders from his master.

Charles has the audacity to roll his eyes at him. He gets up and stands in front of Erik. He’s so close it feels as if his body heat is enveloping Erik. It's as if they're breathing the same air, as if their heartbeats match.

"I don't know how," Erik says sincerely, just the way he'd admitted it the first time. The first time Charles pushed him against a motel wall, kissed him hard and wet, and then shoved his hand down Erik's trousers. Erik had wanted, oh how he'd wanted, but he would never have made a move. In that hot, mad moment, Erik had been hazy from the whisky they'd had earlier at dinner, and giddy from finding more of their kind, and elated from having a companion, a friend—someone Erik thought he'd never have. He gasped then, let go and allowed Charles to stroke him fast and harsh. Charles's spit-wet hand slid relentlessly over Erik's cock, and God, Erik had never been so hard in his life, had never wanted anyone as much as he'd wanted Charles back then—Charles’s proficient fingers, wrapped firmly over Erik’s dick, and his firm body aligned with Erik’s in a perfect fit.

“I don't know how,” Erik said then, once he’d spilled over Charles's fingers and caught his breath long enough to push a hot, desperate thought at Charles: just how much he wanted to reciprocate, to feel Charles give in and shutter underneath Erik's fingers the same way Erik had done seconds ago.

And now—now it's as if they're back to square one, with Erik as inexperienced and lost as he's ever been.

"There's no blueprint to it," Charles says. “Just follow my lead.”

Erik's muscles are all wound up tight, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. He flinches when Charles reaches out to take his hand and tug on it gently, pulling Erik towards him. But he goes along, lets Charles guide him to the bed and sits down with him on the wrinkled sheets.

Charles's hands are warm, his fingers firm but gentle as he traces the frown on Erik's face, as if he wants to smooth it out with his touch. This isn’t something that they do either, these affectionate, delicate gestures. Usually it's all about losing their clothes as fast as they can and tumbling into bed to fuck, not quite brutal but hard, without any room for indecisions or second-guessing themselves.

Erik suspects that he knows what Charles is suggesting, but he's not sure he can handle it. His mind supplies disturbing images of riding crops, chains, boots with sharp spurs and metal tops—like the kind that have broken Erik's ribs several times before.

He hears Charles taking a sharp intake of breath and something in Erik panics because what if this means, _what if this means_ that Charles wants that? If this is what Charles desires, Erik thinks that, no, he won't allow it.

"No," Charles says, his hands steady on Erik's jaw, keeping him firmly in place. "No."

At that Erik closes his eyes. He might be leaning towards Charles a bit, then more and more until he's half lying on Charles’s shoulder. He's so relieved and at the same time he thinks that there’s something in him that wants Charles to take over, to wipe out Erik's rage along with his agenda and his need to control the future of their kind. Because Erik's so tired of being angry. So, so tired.

When Charles pushes him back, Erik goes with it and allows Charles to place him on the bed with Charles's hands like heavy stones on his chest. He keeps his eyes closed because he doesn't know what Charles would see there if Erik opened them. Even though Charles can see into Erik's mind, it seems somehow so much worse when he’s staring into Charles’s blue too fond gaze.

"In," Charles says and Erik doesn't get it at first. But then he does and he breathes in some air.

"Out." Erik's breath comes out shaky, but Charles's hands drag along the dip of Erik's chest, pushing down, and it helps.

"In." And Erik obeys. "Hold it." Charles's voice is so steady, the only thing in the whole universe that Erik can focus on. "Out."

They stay like this for a while, with Charles's voice a constant reminder of the breathing, and Charles controlling the rhythm for Erik. And it's more calming than Erik could have ever imagined, as if letting go of the most basic function, putting the control of it in Charles’s hands, is liberating. Erik wonders if Charles could _actually_ control Erik’s breathing by lacing their brains together and taking hold of Erik's physiological functions. He wonders if Charles could make him stop breathing altogether, and the idea of it makes him heady. The sudden tightening in his stomach surprises him. How can he be aroused at the notion of someone blocking his urge to breathe? And yet he is.

His eyes snap open, and he sees Charles above him, watching him with intent. Charles's hands are firm and heavy where they still rest on Erik's chest. He leans down and brings his face so close to Erik's that it's impossible to read his expression anymore. His breath is hot on Erik's lips, and then Charles closes the last distance and kisses Erik, gentle but without hesitation.

"I'd like that, too," Charles says when they part. "Don't think for a moment that I wouldn't enjoy it. That kind of power is...exhilarating. But you'd have to trust me not to abuse it."

Erik finds in his heart that, yes, he does trust Charles like that. He does.

"Turn on your side," Charles says.

 _So, will it happen now?_ Erik thinks. Despite what he’s thought, despite how deeply he trusts Charles, he can't not be wary.

He's determined, though. He can't disappoint Charles.

Charles yanks at Erik's arm, stopping Erik from rolling over.

"This isn't a test." Charles's eyes are very serious and very blue. "This isn't something that you can fail. And if you even think you can, it means _I’m_ doing it wrong. It's all on me here, do you understand that?"

Erik swallows and nods. He still isn't quite sure if he's ready to make that leap.

"It's not you who decides from now on."

Erik shivers because this makes him feel as if he's been thrown into a well—falling and falling.

He expects Charles to take over, or to take Erik's breath away for real, but it doesn't happen. Instead Charles lies down behind Erik, spooning him, and reaches for Erik's cock that's been half hard ever since they started this conversation.

“If you ever need to stop, we just stop. It’s not a mission,” Charles says while he wraps his lube-covered fingers around Erik's shaft.

Erik's mind is still spinning. He's waiting—for his breathing to be cut off, or maybe for harsh words—but nothing like that happens. It's just him and Charles pressed close together and Charles's fist, steady and tight, slowly pumping Erik's cock. It's not even anything they haven't done yet. The only novelty is that Charles is still fully dressed and that Erik's agreed to cede control to Charles for tonight.

The rhythm that Charles has set is good, so good, but not enough to get Erik off. He shifts a little, trying to get more out of it, maybe a harder grip, maybe another angle, but as soon as he moves Charles’s hand stops.

“Breathe like I showed you,” Charles says. The light press of his lips on Erik’s back is bringing goose bumps up on Erik’s skin.

 _In and hold. Out and hold._ He can do this.

After a moment Charles returns to stroking Erik’s cock. Each time Erik’s arousal picks up, though, Charles slows his movements again. It’s like a fight—a careful dance of attack and parry. Soon, Erik’s too lost in it to think straight. He feels as if he’s hung in a void, his body the center of this small universe they’ve created in the warmth of Charles’s bedroom. He’s floating, his limbs light and loose, and the barriers between him and the rest of the world blur out. His vision narrows, everything too dim to keep track of. It’s a little similar to when he’s so furious he sees white (because Erik’s rage has never been a red haze—it’s sharp and pure blinding white like heated metal). But whereas rage leaves Erik cold and empty inside, he now feels like he’s wrapped up in soft, heavy layers of warm wool.

“Come now.” Charles’s order is distant, but Erik needs to obey nonetheless, and when the orgasm hits him, it’s a full body shudder, leaving him wrung out, almost aching, and with a dull ringing in his ears.

Somewhere from another world he hears Charles’s steady voice, counting inhales and exhales for Erik again. He follows the directions as the shattered bits of the world around him slowly fit together again, until everything is in its rightful position and Erik finds his own place too, calm and settled and drifting into unconsciousness. He feels Charles getting up, the bed dipping lightly when he comes back with a warm washcloth to wipe Erik clean. Then Erik’s tucked into bed like a baby, wrapped tight in a blanket and Charles’s arms, safe and sated.

He knows that when he wakes up all this will be just a memory, a memory that can’t outweigh all the other ones. This rare moment of peace, with another person caring for him and taking the weight of control away—this is just for now and it won’t last, might not ever happen again, so he may as well take as much as he can right now even if he doesn’t quite deserve it.

“Hush,” Charles says. “Sleep now.” And Erik does.


End file.
